Whomever You Want To Be
by copyrogueleader
Summary: The boy was wiping his eyes on the back of his hand. And for one reason or another, Blaine was reminded so much of his freshman self… more so, almost, than he had been with any other McKinley newcomer since his sophomore year… that he moved to sit across from the boy, taking off his bag, and setting it down on the empty seat next to him. "Hey," he said, gently. "Are you okay?"


**So, this is the first time I've ever written a story based on a prompt. The prompt, I'll let you know, was given to me by the lovely and super sweet Jenna (JMarieAllenPoe), and she asked for a shy!Kurt and nerd!Blaine story. So thanks, Jenna for the lovely prompt, and I hope I did it justice! As far as ages and dynamics go, it's pretty different from any Kurt/Blaine AU I've ever read, so I can't wait to hear what everyone thinks. **

Whomever You Want To Be

The first few months were always the hardest.

Not because Blaine didn't have many friends, not because he was teased for a number reasons, and not even necessarily because he didn't particularly enjoy high school.

Mostly, the first few months were the hardest because of the freshmen.

Blaine had nothing against freshman, didn't detest them or participate in hazing or attempt to freak them out with stories about how "every year at least one freshman doesn't make it out alive, and this year it could be you." Actually, he quite liked freshmen. They were quiet and polite and usually pretty studious, everything their upperclassmen counterparts were _not._

Well, except for Blaine. And a few other choice "nerds" who came to school on "skip days," spent every lunch period in the computer lab or the library, and got more excited for AP Physics tests than they did for teacher in-services.

Blaine was a rare breed at a school like William McKinley High.

The reason freshmen made the first few months so hard for upperclassmen like Blaine (who was a junior, to be exact) was that it was hard for them – nerds, kids who cared about their academics, and kids who were taunted for other reasons – to watch the freshmen go through the same hell they had, years ago. And Blaine could always see so clearly which ones would, in a few years' time, be the new school bullies, the ones who would rule when their time finally came around. And he could always see so clearly which ones would end up like him – a daily target for all kinds of teasing.

The teasing Blaine had been subject to definitely thickened his skin, though, and eventually, he was comfortable enough in his own to do things his way, regardless of what people said behind his back (or to his face, for that matter). So, he sported sweater vests. He wore glasses. He lightly gelled down his otherwise uncontrollable curls. He carried a messenger bag instead of a backpack and wore loafers for presentations and sperrys for casual Fridays.

And he eventually learned to let the rude comments and the snide remarks and even the locker shoves roll right off his back. And he was much happier, being himself.

He was doing a fine job just keeping his mind on his work, helping the young ones up off the floor when he saw them and intervening when he could, but for the most part, he was just trying to get by. He didn't really make an effort to befriend any of the freshmen. Not out of spite or resentment or anything like that, but simply because he was perfectly content with the few friends he had. And even them, he didn't socialize with much outside of school.

It wasn't until late October – Halloweekend, as a matter of fact – that things changed.

It had literally been the first time that year Blaine had actually gone to the cafeteria for lunch (he'd spent every lunch period up until that day either tutoring lowerclassmen for Honors Biology, studying in the library, or getting ahead on his Programming projects in the computer lab), and he was instantly regretting it. Certain peers of his were, naturally, having a fabulous time making certain freshmen miserable.

He had just taken a seat next to his lab partner and her boyfriend, who were busy quizzing each other for an upcoming vocabulary test, when a high-pitched shriek from the opposite side of the cafeteria followed by a boisterous burst of laughter from several upperclassmen made all three of them jump in their seats.

"So, he does have a voice box!" came a voice Blaine instantly recognized.

Blaine turned around. At the far end of the room, Noah Puckerman and his army of football-playing airheads were cracking up behind a small, thin boy in a light blue sweater who was white as a ghost and looked dangerously close to tears.

"You know, that's the first time I've heard you make a sound all year," Puckerman said, taking a seat next to the boy, clearly and purposefully invading his personal space. "I'm waiting for you to talk back to me so I'll finally have a good reason to show you what your textbooks feel like, being stuck in a dark locker all day long…"

Hearing Puckerman's words and seeing the horrified look on the young boy's face made Blaine's stomach lurch a little. _That_ certainly brought back memories, ones Blaine would prefer to leave far, far behind him.

"God, he's such an ass," said Tina, before reshuffling her handmade flashcards and handing them to her boyfriend, Mike.

"Don't even get me started," he muttered, taking the cards from her. "Seven more months, you guys."

Blaine just groaned and Tina whined, "For _you, _sure. Blaine and I are stuck in this hellhole for another _year_ after that…"

Mike chuckled and kissed Tina on the nose. Blaine tried to shrug the taunting off and tune into his friends' conversation, but another sound from across the room – a whine, a distressed kind of cry – stopped him, and made him turn again. And there was something in that poor boy's face that made Blaine realize Puck was taking it way too far.

He didn't know what Puck was saying to him as he leaned in close to the boy's ear, didn't know why he had to sit so close, but if tears were dangerously close to falling before, they were two seconds from falling now.

"I gotta go, you guys," Blaine said, throwing the strap of his bag over his shoulder and rising from the table. "Sorry. I'll see you later."

He didn't bother to explain, or even stop and see if they had indeed been looking after him, curiously, or if they had been at all surprised by his unexpected behavior. He couldn't care, though, because he didn't have time to.

"Puckerman!" he called forcefully as he approached the table.

Puck back away from the boy a little and turned at the sound of his name. He grinned cheekily as Blaine approached, feigning he was happy to see the one nerd who'd actually subjected him to a successful, humiliating revenge just one year ago (Blaine had become something of a hero for nerds all throughout the school after that. It was, if anything, his "claim to fame" at McKinley).

"Anderson," he drawled, his grin only growing, "you wanna help me make the kid talk? You, of all people, should know how to make men get down on their knees and open up their mouths…"

Slurs about his sexuality being like white noise at this point in his high school career, Blaine took the last few strides up to Puck's chair and stood above him. "Leave him alone, man. I mean it."

This excited the others, as Blaine could easily have predicted. They egged Puck on, as always, and he stood up. With a quick glance at the young boy, Blaine saw momentary relief in his expression.

"Oh, okay, _man. _Sure, _man. _Whatever you say…" he pushed Blaine, just the slightest bit, in the shoulders, "… _man._"

Blaine didn't move, and he looked Puck straight in the eye. "I mean it. Pick on someone your own size. You wanna pick on me? Fine. Go ahead, see if I care, but leave him alone."

Puck inched closer, but Blaine stood firm. "Oh, okay, well maybe I will."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah."

"Well, maybe I'll tell Coach there's a suspicious little plastic bag hidden in your gym locker. I doubt whatever's in it came from a Pixy Stick."

This shut the others up, Blaine was proud to hear, and Puck just glared at him, unblinkingly. And Blaine couldn't hide a small smirk as he watched Puck struggle to find a comeback.

"I've got you for another year, Anderson. So you best watch your back."

"Well," Blaine chuckled, crossing his arms over his chest, "I'm pretty sure I'll be okay, but I appreciate your concern."

With a jerk of the head and one last glare at Blaine, Puck led the others away from the table, leaving Blaine alone with the boy, who still looked shaken.

Blaine glanced back to Mike and Tina's table, contemplating returning. But, they looked pretty engrossed in their studying, and a small sniffle made him turn around again.

The boy was wiping his eyes on the back of his hand. And for one reason or another, Blaine was reminded so much of his freshman self… more so, almost, than he had been with any other McKinley newcomer since his sophomore year… that he moved to sit across from the boy, taking off his bag, and setting it down on the empty seat next to him.

"Hey," he said, gently. The boy looked, nervously, at Blaine. "Are you okay?"

He started to nod, but apparently changed his mind, and began shaking his head as tears streamed freely down his cheeks.

Blaine reached across the table and took one the boy's hands in his own, and said quietly, "Hey… hey, hey, hey… it's okay…"

The boy took a sharp gasp of air, and Blaine just gripped his hand tightly, letting him breathe, breathe, breathe, until he calmed down.

He slowly extracted his hand from Blaine's and wiped his eyes again, and Blaine asked, "Do you… want me to take you to the guidance office?"

The boy shook his head, and looked down at the table in front of him. He didn't have much of a lunch there – just a water bottle and half of a sandwich – but he did have a notebook and a worksheet in front of him, with calculations Blaine recognized as being standard curriculum for sophomores. _He's smart, _Blaine thought.

"What's your name?" Blaine asked.

The boy just looked at him, and suddenly, Blaine was gripped by a slightly intimidating thought. "… _Can _you speak?"

"I _can_," he said, more quickly than Blaine had expected, but in a soft, fearful voice, "I just… don't like to."

"Well, that's okay."

This, of all things, made Kurt look so surprised, and suddenly a little more comfortable in Blaine's presence. He looked at him questioningly, and Blaine just smiled, and said, "Just because you're not like everyone else doesn't make you… lesser. You shouldn't have to talk if you don't like to. You can be whomever you want to be."

Blaine caught a subtle eye roll before Kurt replied, his voice still cautious, as if he had yet to decide whether or not he fully trusted Blaine, "But if I was more like everyone else, maybe I wouldn't get… bothered… so much."

"Maybe," Blaine nodded, "but maybe not. When I started being who I wanted to be… dressing how I wanted to dress, hanging with the people I liked… things got a lot better for me."

"You mean…" the boy looked curiously at Blaine, his expression softening, "you were… you were… bullied… too?"

Blaine raised his eyebrows and gave the boy a slightly humorous "if you can believe that" look, which made him smile as well.

Blaine laughed, sat back, and stretched his arms, just as the boy spoke, "Kurt."

"Sorry?" Blaine asked, elbow on the table once again.

"My name is Kurt," he repeated. "Hummel."

Blaine reached across the table to shake his hand as he introduced himself. "I'm Blaine."

"Um…" Kurt paused a little after pulling his hand from Blaine's, then wringing his two hands together. "Thank you… Blaine."

Blaine folded his arms on the table and smiled, "You don't have to thank me, Kurt. Trust me, I know what it's like."

Kurt smiled back, and Blaine suddenly felt so good in a way he was pretty sure he'd never felt before. Blaine was not a selfish person by any means, but nor was he a regular philanthropist. He was fairly closed off, took care of himself, was kind to others when they approached him and occasionally on his own will, but for some reason, this felt different. Kurt felt different. And again, when Kurt picked up his half-sandwich and took several small bites, Blaine was reminded so much of himself, and reminded so much of how badly he, as a freshman, had wanted someone older to be on _his _side. Sadly, he hadn't been so lucky.

But maybe Kurt would be.

* * *

"So how old are you, Kurt?" Blaine asked as he and Kurt separated themselves from the crowd of students pouring from the cafeteria, heading to Kurt's locker so he could gather up his books for his next class.

"Fourteen," Kurt replied.

Blaine nodded coolly. "Nice."

"How old are _you_?"

A little surprised (as Kurt had mostly been on the receiving end of questions throughout the rest of their lunch period), Blaine looked over at Kurt, who was smiling up at him shyly, almost inquiring with a look if it was okay for _him_ to ask a question. If he was allowed, too.

Blaine smiled back at him and answered fondly, "Seventeen. So I guess, we're like, Cedric Diggory and Harry Potter. Only I won't make fun of you behind your back like Cedric did to Harry."

He looked back at Kurt whose entire face had lit up with laughter, and he was suddenly so blatantly aware of how _radiant_ Kurt was, when he was happy. It was the brightest he'd seen Kurt, ever. And he loved seeing Kurt this way, and part of him just wanted to make Kurt feel like this, always.

They approached Kurt's locker and he entered the combination and opened it up, then knelt to the floor and began exchanging notebooks and textbooks for his next few periods until the end of the day. Surprisingly enough, it was the inside of Kurt's locker that made Blaine want to ask… even his own locker had a _few _decorations. Pictures of himself, Mike, and Tina from PJAS competitions, a few magnets from teachers and fieldtrips… but Kurt's, Kurt's was completely bare.

"Kurt," Blaine began, as Kurt looked up at him from his spot on the floor, "did you know… _anyone _coming into this school? Like… do you have…"

"Any friends?" Kurt finished.

Blaine swallowed hard. He didn't want to ruin this. He wanted so badly _not_ to ruin this.

They just looked at each other, and finally, Kurt answered, "No."

He stood up and closed his locker, then leaned his back against it, and sighed. "I think… there's something… weird. About me."

"Weird… weird how, Kurt?"

"I, um…" Kurt wrapped his arms around himself, and Blaine leaned on the locker beside him, keeping close. He looked deep in thought, like he was trying to decide whether or not to say something…

"My mom died."

That hit Blaine, hard. He didn't know what to say. There wasn't anything he _could _say, so he kept his eyes on Kurt, and waited.

"Two weeks… um…" Kurt took a small breath, "Two weeks before I started school."

"Kurt, that's… that's awful…"

"_She _was my friend," he said. "And after that… I didn't want any more friends. Because… apparently… they're only temporary. That's why I… um… why I, you know… don't talk to anyone." Kurt took a moment and fiddled with his backpack, nearly dropping it as he slid his many books and notepads into the main pouch. Once he had gotten a good hold on it again, he zipped it up, and slung it over his shoulders.

"Kurt, I um…" Blaine scratched the back of his neck, wanting to choose his words carefully. "I want you to know that, that I meant what I said before. That, you know, if you don't want to talk, you shouldn't have to. But… but if you _do _want to… I'll be around. Anytime you need me. Okay?"

_A smile, again. _"Okay, Blaine," Kurt said, gripping the straps of his backpack tightly. "Um… and… thank you."

Blaine nodded, and gave Kurt one last smile before the small, thin, pale, yet for some reason alluring boy set off for his next class.

Blaine stayed put for a while, just watching students file out of classrooms and crowd the halls when the bell rang, deep in thought. About what, he wasn't exactly sure. Well, Kurt, of course, but he wasn't exactly sure what to think about the strange boy, or the interactions they had had, or the interactions they might have, in the future.

_If any, _he thought. But it wasn't a pleasant thought. _Maybe, hopefully… many, _he added, with smile.

He had taken one step away from the lockers, when he felt something make contact with his foot…

He looked down, and there, on the ground, just beneath Kurt's locker (right where he had been standing when he had fumbled clumsily with his backpack), was a small…

_Dog, _Blaine finally realized, bending down and picking it up. It was a dog, just small enough to fit snugly on the palm of his hand, fur made out of strings and strings of dark brown thread, small button eyes and a pink threaded nose and mouth, in a sitting position with white paws and, Blaine saw, a threaded engraving on its back.

_To my Kurt, _

_Happy 1__st__ Birthday. _

_Love, Mom_

Though Blaine could not bring himself to smile as he read the beautiful yet heartbreaking message, considering the conditions under which Kurt was now carrying this small, knitted dog in his backpack, most likely for some small bit of comfort as he trudged every day through high school, he could feel a kind of warmth spreading inside his chest as he held the tiny thing in his hand. And then, he knew he'd see Kurt again. He'd have to give it back to him, after all. So, he planned to be here, at Kurt's locker, at the end of the day. He planned to ask him about his day, ask him about his schedule, see if he could give him any advice on (or tell any funny stories about) any of his teachers, walk him out to his bus, and say goodbye one more time, before heading home for the day.

What Blaine didn't know, though, was that in just a few weeks' time, Kurt would come to him for tutoring in Honors Biology. Nor did he know that he and Kurt would be in the same Study Hall the following semester, or that they would begin spending those periods together in the library, recommending books for each other and helping each other study.

Nor did Blaine know that they would meet several times over the summer, Blaine taking Kurt to a drive-in for his fifteenth birthday, the two of them taking a day trip to Columbus just for the heck of it, Kurt introducing Blaine to his father, who would pull Blaine aside when Kurt was busy helping his stepmom with dinner and tell him how grateful he was for the friendship he had given Kurt, especially after his mom's passing.

Nor did Blaine know that in just under four years' time, when Blaine was twenty years old and had just finished his sophomore year at Kent State, he would be returning to McKinley High to sit with the entire Hummel family and cheer for Kurt as he accepts his diploma, turns his tassel, then tosses his cap triumphantly in the air, finished with high school and ready to join Blaine as a college student, ready to go someplace where he would truly find his bliss.

And Blaine had no idea then, as he stood in the halls of McKinley High as a high school junior holding tightly onto Kurt's tiny, stuffed dog, that in just under four years, when Kurt would toss his cap into the air out on that football field with the rest of his classmates, that Blaine would run down from the bleachers and push his way through the crowd of rowdy, euphoric graduates, until he found Kurt...

Then, he would run to him, hug him as tightly as he could and momentarily lift him into the air before setting him down, wrapping his arms around his waist, and kissing him.

And they wouldn't care who saw, or what anyone thought, because by then, it will have been about damn time. Because by then, both of them will have wanted to for at least a year and half.

And it will feel so right.

And it will _be_ so right.

**The end (: I really hope everyone enjoys this, especially you, Jenna! If you feel so gracious as to leave a comment (which I always love and appreciate!) be sure to thank Jenna for her adorable prompt! Cheers!**


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